Silence the Laughter
by Marcus the Iron Raven
Summary: What would you do if you thought your neighbors were psychotic worshipers of Sheogorath? Hire an assassin, of course!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes:

_Silence the Laughter _takes place in the world of Tamriel, in the city of Skingrad, set not too long before the Daedric Invasion of Tamriel. As usual, I'd love feedback, but whatever, as long as you enjoy. I can't believe I was considering doing this as a one-shot, but instead I'm releasing it as a chapter-by-chapter thing, as I didn't want to break over two thousand words per chapter.

* * *

Laughter rang through the midnight air; loud, obnoxious, echoing laughter.

The laughter filled the air every night it seemed, no matter the day or the hour of night.

And every night the residents of Grey Street would wish for peace to envelop their little corner of Skingrad. One particular individual, who shall not be named, even went as far as to guarantee a resolution of sorts to their problem.

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear," went forth a plea one night, whispered over the remains of a High Elf's heart, flesh and bones, the flickering candlelight casting a mockery of movement in the sockets of the meat-encrusted skull. The Imperial watched the shadows dancing on the stone wall, dancing like the villainous Daedra after eating the souls of the wicked.

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, most unholy matron, there lives one who must be sent to the Dread Father," continued the chant, the old Arena Champion continuously stabbing the heart and flesh of the recently-deceased, the smell of freshly-cut Nightshade bittersweet in the Imperial's nostrils.

"How may the Dark Brotherhood serve you?"

The voice came from behind the Imperial, and standing behind him in his very basement was a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, a black-robed figure, its' cowl masking it's features. But as the Speaker spoke, the cowl was lifted slightly, and in the depths of the hood the Imperial could see a most handsome face, chiseled to perfection by the Gods that be, but the Imperial knew of the dark deeds that this man must have committed to serve such as dark mistress.

"M-my lord, I have come asking a favor. Several houses down, in my own street, sits a house of inane laughter and chatter. I wish to have the house silenced forever."

"And how do you wish this done; publically, secretly, brutally, to name a few?" asked the robed man, his cowl now hiding a dark grin.

"Brutally. I want them to suffer." The Imperial was surprised at his own courage to speak so freely, his face openly showing the torture the laughter had brought to him.

"And how many live within this house of laughter?"

"Five, including the child," answered the Imperial.

The robed man stood silently for a moment, taking in the Imperial's sleep-deprived face, before looking down at the sacrifice, staring intently at the permanently grinning skull. He withdrew a scroll of plain parchment from his robe and a feather, and asked the Imperial for a bottle of ink. Kicking a small stool over to a crate, the robed man sat, and started writing in an incredibly elegant motion.

_I, Lucien Lachance, have answered the summons of the Listener and made contact with the Client. The Client, who for privacy's sake will remain anonymous, will pay a blood bounty of five hundred gold septims per head, which shall be delivered to me by the time I finish this report. The target in question is a house that lies not far from the Client's home. Inside are five targets, including a child. The Client has asked for the murders to be particularly brutal and violent, and wishes them to suffer. The location of this house is on Grey Street, Skingrad, and will be identifiable by the laughter being emitted by the house every night. I recommend an agent of Slayer-level or higher to be sent._

_Signed,_

_Lucien Lachance_

_Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood_

As the Speaker finished writing, he quickly rolled up the parchment and tucked it into a scroll case. Lying on the ground beside him was five large pouches, all filled with Imperial septims, the currency of the land. The Imperial stood next to the pouches, one hand clasping the other, and a look of forced-calm on his now-sweaty face.

"All the gold's here, you can count it if you want." The Imperial's right eye twitched when saying this; he knew that he would be broke, and had to hope somehow he'd be able to scrounge up enough money to pay for his rent, or he'd be out the door.

But the Speaker simply snapped his fingers, and two silhouettes detached themselves from the shadows on the stone wall and quickly picked up the pouches, their black leather armor creaking from the movement, before they disappeared as quickly as they had come. The Speaker started to laugh, a horrible, gravely sound, as if an old man with a lung condition was attempting to laugh.

"No one dares to cross the Dark Brotherhood, so if I find that the gold lacks in amount, I'll be back, trust me. Good evening."

The former-Arena Champion allowed himself to sag against the wall, the robed man finally disappearing, seemingly into thin air. It was almost too much for him to take, and began to worry more fearfully about next month's rent as he clasped a small bottle of Cyrodilic Brandy, and took off the stopper with his teeth. That would be next month's problem.

* * *

Two nights later, a cloaked woman entered Skingrad through the Western Gate, having tied up her horse at the Grateful Pass stables, and proceeded to pass underneath the dozing eyes of the guards, unseen. She had nothing particularly to fear from the guards, after all she wasn't clad in her 'work' clothes, but the woman loved to humiliate them. Walking up the stone steps that led into the Two Sister's Lodge, she pushed open the door to be greeted with loud boasting and the smell of rich ale.

The lodge was packed with customers tonight, each eager as the last to pass forth into the gates of oblivion, and find new levels of numbness in their drinks. Paying the innkeeper, the woman took the stairs up, and proceeded to the inn's rooms.

Settling into the comfortable living quarter, Antoinetta shrugged off her stifling cloak and threw her pack onto the queen-sized bed. It was almost too late tonight to do any investigation of the situation, but she decided that she could still question the drunks downstairs, but first she had to choose a persona.

Rummaging through her pack, Antoinetta pulled out velvet dresses and rough-spun cloth shirts, formal coats stitched with gold and the sort of rags you'd see a beggar wearing. Choosing too extravagant of an outfit would draw unwanted attention to her, so she chose carefully.

Coming down stairs, she was pleased by the interested looks the drunken laborers of the city were giving her. Dressed in a long burgundy skirt and ruffled blouse, her shoulder-length blonde hair done up in a Breton Braid, Antoinetta's outfit was well-suited to her needs. Yes, she appeared to be of a middle-to-upper class standard, but women of her sort weren't such a rare sight in times like these, but it was her softly rounded features, twinkling blue eyes and almost-constantly smiling face that sealed the deal, and immediately several young men from the city offered to buy her a drink.

"My lady, you are like the image of an angel from the Chapel of Julianos!"

"Such rot, how dare you accuse her of being so low? She is surely as beautiful as one of the Divines!"

"Sacrilege!"

"Blasphemy!"

"Gentlemen, I believe you've all had a wee bit too much to drink, I'm only an honest merchant's daughter, but it's really nice to be thought of as an angel, or a Divine, even for a night. Would any of you be willing to hand me a goblet of wine, I hear Skingrad's wine is simply the best." Antoinetta was immediately offered four goblets of wine, and she pretended to blush. She should have known that the famous rivalry between the wine-makers in Skingrad would also extend to the inns and taverns in the early hours, each rival paying their laborers to only drink their wine. Taking a goblet filled with Tamika's West Weald wine, she sipped on the delicious liquid, savoring his taste and texture. Although no wine connoisseur, Antoinetta enjoyed the finer things in life which were denied her in her childhood. Settling down at a table with her small group of admirers, Antoinetta immediately went to work.

"Tell me, do any of you live on Grey Street?" asked the young merchant's daughter.

Most of the laborers were silent on this, but an especially pock-marked one immediately leapt on the opportunity, claiming to indeed live on the street, and while it was unlikely, Antoinetta decided to show him considerable more attention, much to the envy of his peers.

"Are there any odd families living there?"

The youth gulped down his wine and smiled, "Well, yeah, there's the Viducia family, they're pretty strange."

"How so?"

"Well, they never seem to mingle with anyone else, they never come drinking down here or at the other inn, and they always seem to laugh a lot at night. A few neighbors of mine have gotten together and tried to ask them to quiet down, but they didn't even speak to us," answered the pock-marked youth, almost sadly, then took a swig from his goblet, and finding it empty, signaled for another.

"Why do they laugh so?"

By now most of the admirers realized that Antoinetta wanted to persue a conversation solely with the pock-marked, and they moved away, leaving the two to talk.

"I honestly can't tell you ma'am, they keep to themselves, and they always have."

"But surely they have come out to shop and the like?"

The youth leaned back in his chair, his face suddenly full of worry. "Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you? But no, they get their maid to go out and do all their shopping. They don't go to the Chapel and they never leave their house. That poor kid…"

"Kid?" Antoinetta knew that a child lived there, but feigned ignorance; clearly this young laborer knew something about the family he wasn't telling her.

"Yeah, name of Sheila. She's not really a kid, she's probably around fourteen now, but no one's seen her for years now."

"You knew this girl?"

The chattering in the tavern suddenly grew twice-fold, as more drinks were passed around. The barmaids flew from corner to corner, refilling mugs of ale and pitchers of wine, while an old, senile man made shadow-puppets on the timber wall, to the delight of several of the more intoxicated patrons.

"You could say that, I knew her back when she was just a young sprite, I used to take her to the Chapel since her parents wouldn't, but that stopped when she was ten. She stopped coming outside, same as her parents, and that's it."

Antoinetta stayed with the pock-marked laborer, and indulged in some light chatter with him, humoring the young man in his attempts to woo her hand, but eventually on his fifth goblet of wine, the poor lad passed out, leaving Antoinetta to dodge the attentions of those who had previously given up. It was well past midnight when she went upstairs, the drinking downstairs slowly dying out to just a few groups of drunks who were likely to sleep in the gutter that night. Slipping into a skin-tight black body-suit, and pulled the mask over her face, completely obscuring her features. Opening the door of her balcony, she stepped out into the cold, windy night, her silhouette against the full moon, before quietly leaping to the opposite balcony. Lifting herself to the balcony's railing, she sprang upwards, and caught hold of the roof, then lifted herself effortlessly. Running silently on the sloped tiles with a cat's grace, Antoinetta made the jump to the opposite roof, and headed for Grey Street.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes:  
The song that is sung is 'Last Dance' by Lord Jornibret And yes, I have messed around with how magic works in Oblivion.

* * *

_Every winter season,  
Except for the reason  
Of one war or another  
Really quite a bother,  
The Queen of Rimmen and her consort  
Request their vassals come and cavort.  
On each and every ball,  
The first man at the Hall  
Is Lord Ogin Jornibret of Gaer,  
The Curse of all the Maidens Fair._

The sweet sound of a young maiden singing softly passed by the dreams of those sleeping underneath, her voice warm and inviting, carried by the wind and night air. Those were awake may have wondered on the strangeness of the wind's passing, for neither wind nor air above can sing so softly, but quickly they would dismiss the thought, and lay down once more to rest.

_Oh, dear ladies, beware.  
Dearest, dearest ladies, take care.  
Though he's a very handsome man,  
If you dare to take his handsome hand,  
The nasty little spell will be cast  
And your first dance with him will be the last._

A sound likened to a pin's drop heralded the verse as the assassin dropped from the sloping roof to the balcony, her feet barely making a sound. A cat meowed, and moved to rub against her leg, but immediately she was gone again, leaping onto the railing and leaping across the threshold to the opposite house. She could hear the sound of people making merry and laughing, and assumed she was close. Dropping to the street below, she dodged into the space between two townhouses as a guard patrolled down the street, his torch's light barely penetrating her hiding place, but immediately as he passed the assassin was gone again, as silent as a shadow, but infinitely more deadly.

A swallow took flight in the wind, the almost-indiscernible sound of its wings flapping completely masking the sound of the assassin leaping and catching hold of the vines beneath an overhang. She pulled herself up, as quickly as a mountain lion chasing a rat, and clung to the side of the overhang, before leaping to the opposite side of the street as a guard passed beneath.

_At this social event  
Everyone who went  
Knew the bows and stances  
And steps to all the dances.  
The Queen of Rimmen and her consort  
Would order a trumpet's wild report,  
And there could be no indecision  
As the revelers took position.  
The first dance only ladies, separate  
Away from such men as Lord Jornibret._

Antoinetta Marie finally allowed herself to take in a deep breathe, and settled onto the cozy sofa that had been abandoned on the balcony, listening to the whistles, hoots and laughter that echoed from within the townhouse. It sounded like just the regular laughter enjoyed by many a close family, reveling in family memories or a father telling his children how a particular sheep acted that day, but Antoinetta sensed something wrong. The laughter didn't cease, as if it was just a continuous stream, giving her goosebumps all over.

"-almost too much…" drifted a voice into the night, making Antoinetta move closer to the wooden door, and carefully tap the handle; it was unlocked. Staring through the keyhole, she could just make out the wooden floor, adorned with a red, woolen rug, leading to what seemed to be the stairs. Taking the chance, she pushed open the door and slid in on her stomach, quickly glancing around. The top floor was more or less bare, with a door on either side leading to what was probably bedrooms, and while straight ahead were the stairs. Another voice came up the stairs, followed by a loud snort of laughter. "You'd know that, right?"

Recognizing that all the laughter she could hear definitely was originating downstairs, Antoinetta flipped open a pouch on her belt, and pulled out a small, black gem, as well as several red gems, each as big as a finger nail. Poking her head out past the railing, Antoinetta stared straight down, and saw the first of her targets; an old man, pure-white hair wildly careening out of control and skin as tight as leather, was sitting on the floor, next to a white-blue vase commonly manufactured in Mournhold. He was just sitting there, resting his head against the wooden panels, and would laugh hoarsely every few moments. Listening to the echoes in the house, she could tell that there was at least one more person in the room somewhere. Quietly moving into position so that she could see straight down the stairs, and more importantly, the chandelier that lit the part of the room she could see, Antoinetta flicked out a red gem, landing it into one of the chandelier's five candles. Flicking out four more, soon all the candles were blazing with heat, and very quickly melting the wax. Within half a minute the candles would burn out, and Antoinetta had to act quickly. Opening another pouch, she pulled out a small, oval mirror, and angled it against the wall, so she could see the rest of the room, and sure enough, an incredibly corpulent man dressed only in a pair of leather boots was standing, facing a woman lying on a timber table. The woman was young, probably in her thirties, and had a long mane of red hair and a perfectly-proportioned hourglass figure, and she too was naked.

Antoinetta would have suspected the family to be engaging in some sort of sex-related ritual, except for one thing; the man was just standing there, laughing inanely, as if he was brain damaged while the woman giggled hysterically, tears of laughter streaming down her powdered face. "A monkey eating a rabbit! Genius!"

"If a man coughs, does he drink milk?"

"Spiders spider spider spider!"

Well, that wasn't strange at all. The name of a particular Daedra Lord came to Antoinetta's lips.

Counting down, Antoinetta leapt into action as she hit thirty seconds, and sure enough, the candles all burnt out, shrouding the room into darkness. She touched down on the bottom floor silently, flinging a throwing knife at the old man while she decapitated the naked man with a single swipe of her short sword, its glittering ruby-encrusted handle flashing, mingling with the burst of red blood. Following through, she jumped onto the woman's body, and stabbed downwards, a spray of blood from her jugular vein splashing Antoinetta's face.

Three down, two to go.

Suddenly, the house was quiet. No more laughter rang out; no sound at all interrupted the silence. Suddenly, a loud crash resonated from upstairs, and Antoinetta hugged the wall, swapping her short sword to her left hand and drawing her scimitar with the right. A roar echoed through the house, before a giant figure flew off the second-floor, smashing through the railing, and fell to the floor, knees bent. It straightened up, a savage grin plastered on his bald head.

Chains hung on his giant frame, rags kept his modesty and a giant cleaver swung easily in his grip, the berserker roared at the shadows, smelling the blood in the air. The berserker's rage-filled mind swung blindly, making broad sweeps through the shadows. A grandfather clock was ripped into two while sparks leapt as the cleaver clashed with an iron candelabra "Blood for the King of Madness!" the giant roared, as if he was shouting at the gods themselves.

Antoinetta ducked under a wild swing, dropping onto her left knee and pivoting, snaking both blades across the Berserker's exposed left calf, before flipping her entire body through the air, straight over the low swing the Berserker had retaliated with. Standing low, eyeing the Berserker wearily, Antoinetta thought furiously. She had already concluded that this was a den of Sheogorath's followers, mentally-deranged men and women who had devoted their life to the worship of the Prince of Madness. But this man was different; enraged to the point of insanity, the Prince of Madness had a funny sense of humor indeed.

An inhuman roar tore through Antoinetta's heart, and suddenly all she wanted to do was run very far away, but she recognized it being the Berserker's power to destroy hope. Once more resolved, the assassin parried aside the cleaver's strike, and delivered a series of quick, short slices to his arms and legs, but the crimson nicks barely even registered to the Berserker as he threw aside his cleaver and barreled forward, smashing the assassin with a fist like iron, the strike propelling her like a ragdoll in a storm. Antoinetta literally saw stars flashing through her dim vision, blood dripped from her mouth as she lay on the floor, paralyzed in agony from the blow. A single blow, that's all it had taken to put her out of the fight.

The giant picked her up and spun, throwing her back at the abused staircase. She felt her ribs groan, and one snap from the impact. A scream racked her body, the pain blinding her senses.

She couldn't think.

She couldn't fight.

She couldn't win.

With trembling fingers she gingerly opened another pouch, and she slipped on a small silver ring onto her index finger.

A blue light shone for a second, blinding the approaching Berserker in the darkness. Standing up, seemingly as good as new, Antoinetta pulled out a garrote and leapt at the stumbling psychopath, swinging her arms around his neck and spun onto his back, the garrote tightened around the giant's trunk-like neck. The ring's secondary power kicked in, and another light flashed in the house, a red one this time. Antoinetta felt her muscles expand, her entire body becoming stronger, more powerful. She pulled tight on the garrote, and suddenly the Berserker became aware of the danger he was in. He clawed at his neck, trying to remove whatever was suddenly causing him pain, but the assassin just pulled tighter, riding the Berserker's thrashing body as if he was a wild animal.

With a final gasp of anger, the Berserker finally dropped to his knees, and sagged forwards, dead. Sliding off his body, Antoinetta picked up her swords, and placed them back in their scabbards.

One to go.

She knew she didn't have long before the ring's charge ran out, so she acted quickly. She willed the magic in her blood, and traced a pattern in the air with her finger; a complex shape of lines and circles. A purple light shown this time, and the color in her vision seemed to dim. Antoinetta could see the purple flames outline the position of the next door neighbor's through the walls, and only now was she aware that a sizable body of people were gathering at the front door, no doubt drawn by the sounds of battle.

But she had now located her final target, cowering downstairs in the basement.

The young girl was scared, clutching a small teddy bear. Her body wracked by her sobs, she hiccupped when the assassin came down the stairs, allowing her presence to be heard and seen. The girl hugged her bear closer, her curly red hair framing her cherub-like face. The assassin looked straight at her, across the torch-lit stony chamber, and froze.

Antoinetta had never harmed a child before. She had always refused the contracts that involved the murder of kids, and let the psychopathic Orc in the Cheydinal Sanctuary take those jobs, but Vincente had told her that she needed to kill indiscriminately in order to attain a higher rank, so she had come here tonight knowing that this moment must come, but she still couldn't help it, her mind was racing and her heart beating like never before.

_The girl needs to die, her head was screaming._

_She's the same age as you were when the Brotherhood took you in, her heart was yelling._

"Please don't hurt me," asked the tearful girl, and in Antoinetta's opinion, that just took the cake. The girl was only about fourteen, only a few years younger then herself. She simply couldn't do it, it was much too hard and too painful.

"I promise I'll be good, just don't kill me."

"I'm sorry girl, but I have orders, if I don't kill you, they'll kill both of us," answered Antoinetta, slowly drawing her short sword. If she had to do it, the least she could do is make it as painless as possible.

"I'll go far away, I promise, I'll go so far that no one can even find me." It was breaking Antoinetta's heart. She wanted to kneel down, to hug the young girl and reassure her, to tell her that everything will be fine, but she knew that it was impossible now. Antoinetta activated the Disintegration enchantment on the sword.

Two nights later, Antoinetta reported her success to the Dark Brotherhood. Three bodies had been found dead in the House of Laughter, along with two piles of ash. Her mission was deemed complete and Antoinetta was praised for her dedication.

* * *

Author's final note:  
Yes, two. It's not a mistake.


End file.
